West London girls at a Di memorial concert? FH doesn’t think so.
I know everyone had a lovely day yesterday celebrating the life of Lady Di off-of Royals, so I do hate to piss on everyone’s chips but did anyone else quite want to take a firebomb to that VIP enclosure?
Wills and Harry off-of Royals are harmless posh-un’s I have no problem with (after all it’s their job to look thick and jolly), but it’s the scores of Fulham hangers-on from Boujis who need to be rounded up and assassinated.
By all means invite one or two inbred mates with receding chins and Hackett storecards to sit with you, but what was the entire membership list at Mahikis doing there? How many hair flicking girls in pastel pashminas and blokes with rolled up shirtsleeves dancing like stockbrokers to Kanye West (Sloanes love a bit of Disney hip de hop) do you know for God’s sake? By the time Elton John waddled on stage that was it, I’d had enough.
So my copy of Socialist Worker will be arriving in the post tomorrow, and I’ll be throwing my pashmina on the bonfire. I might hang on to the Hunter wellies, though… well, they’re special edition pink!